Men and Gentlemen
by Caesari
Summary: Sephiroth has returned to his country home after a long stay in London, with his friend Lord Hewley and his acquaintance the fiery Lord Genesis. With them are Zack Fair and enigmatic orphan Cloud Strife. Feuding and passion ensues. Mainly SephxGen, AU.
1. Vice and Virtue

**Chapter One: Vice and Virtue**

"_**Give a man a match, he shall be warm for a moment. Light a man on fire and he shall be warm for the rest of his life." -**_ **ENGLISH PROVERB**

Blenheim Palace was now, finally, to be reopened. The servants had their work cut out for them; Sephiroth, the Duke of Marlborough, was returning from London after a long season, and with him was his close friend Lord Hewley. Angeal was, in turn, accompanied by his childhood friend Lord Genesis Rhapsodos, who as the only son and heir apparent of the Duke of Devonshire held the honorary title of Marquess of Hartington. The marquess and duke had only recently met in London, and held one another in mutual distain. If it weren't for their mutual friend Angeal Hewley, the thought of their living together for any length of time would have been inconceivable. In addition to their party were the honourable Zachary ("Zack") Fair and his lifelong friend Cloud Strife, the orphan ward of Zack's father, Lord Fair. These last two were to arrive at Blenheim a day after the rest of the party, as Zack had a duty to call on the family of his fiancée, Lady Aerith Gainsborough, before leaving town.

Reeve Tuesti, Sephiroth's butler, was busying himself shouting at the footmen who were hastily assembling themselves by the palace's main entrance, waiting to receive the duke. Cissnei, the housekeeper, was directing the maids, who were putting the finishing touches to their dusting and polishing of the long shut up house. Cissnei and Reeve each simultaneously froze as they heard the unmistakable sound of hooves on gravel and turned to stare at one another a moment before bellowing at the servants still inside to join the already assembled staff that flagged the grand entrance. As the duke's carriage pulled up, Reeve motioned frantically for Kunsel, one of the more junior footmen, to get the door. First out of the carriage was Sephiroth, the Duke of Marlborough, who loftily observed the palace's façade without deigning to acknowledge his staff. The next to alight was Lord Hewley, who came to stand next to his friend, looking rather more admiringly at Blenheim and the grand array of staff. Last was Lord Genesis, who rolled his eyes as he took in the sight of the palace. It was even larger than Chatsworth, the country house where Genesis' father had his seat. Reeve hurried forward to welcome the duke and his guests.

"Welcome home, your grace. I trust the journey was not too arduous?" Reeve asked anxiously.

"It must have been tolerable, or else we would not have survived it," Sephiroth replied coldly, removing his gloves without looking at his butler. Reeve laughed nervously.

"Right you are, your grace. If your grace and his guests would like to come in…?"

Reeve gestured helplessly towards the great entryway, which Sephiroth now strode towards without a single look at his staff. Angeal followed suit, smiling warmly at the butler whom he could tell was rather uneasy in the duke's presence. Genesis walked alongside his friend, looking about himself haughtily while trying to conceal his admiration of the place.

Sephiroth quickly summoned Essai, his valet, and retired to his apartment to dress after the journey, and the two other gentlemen were each shown to their rooms so that they might do likewise. Luxiere, Genesis' own French valet, appeared in Genesis' room shortly after his arrival, carrying the last of his luggage.

"You're late. I needed you," Genesis said moodily, watching Luxiere in the mirror from where he sat at the dressing table.

"My apologies, mon seigneur; I 'ave been 'ere four times already wiz ze luggage. You told me not to trust ze footmen wiz it and so I 'aven't, and I brought it all myself from ze carriage."

Genesis mentally calculated the hundreds of yards Luxiere must have walked to have got here and back five times whilst carrying various bags and figured congratulations must be in order. He didn't give them anyway.

"Indeed. Very well. Well come here, will you? I need you to do my hair. I can't get my fringe to do that thing."

"What zing, mon seigneur?"

"The thing you always get it to do!" Genesis snapped impatiently.

"Ah, d'accord."

* * *

><p>An hour later found the three men in the parlour. Sephiroth was in his favourite chair, reading a novel. Tilting his head, Genesis saw he was reading an aged copy of Samuel Richardson's <em>Pamela<em>, and tried – though ineffectively – to hide his smirk at the raunchiness of Sephiroth's reading material, as well as his surprise that the man read fiction at all, austere as he seemed. Genesis and Angeal were playing chess, and Genesis' pieces were dominating the board. He had managed to drive Angeal's king and two surviving pawns into a corner with his queen and remaining rook, and had his bishop poised to checkmate once his friend slipped up. Genesis was already relishing his imminent victory: he loved to be on the winning side. He had, once or twice, tried to draw the duke into conversation, and he was unsure whether it was Sephiroth's natural reserve or his own audacity that had caused the duke to be so silent; it wasn't Genesis' fault that the only thing he could think to remark on was how out-dated the furnishings were, though perhaps his digression on the Italian wallpaper in the parlour at Devonshire House was a little excessive.

There! Angeal had moved his king. Genesis sighed languorously and smiled wickedly at his friend before moving his bishop.

"Checkmate."

Angeal scoffed, but responded gracefully all the same.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you very much."

Genesis reached for his wineglass so that he might toast his victory. Angeal looked over to Sephiroth, and saw that the duke was eyeing the chessboard.

"I don't suppose your grace is interested in playing the victor?" Lord Hewley said with mock deference; Angeal and Sephiroth were too close friends to usually bother with kinds of those formalities.

"Certainly, if our friend here is still lucid enough for another game," Sephiroth replied snidely. Genesis suppressed his wince. He must have offended the duke after all.

"I've had only this glass and not even that," he replied impetuously. There was something about the way the duke had phrased his insult that reminded him awfully of his father, "Why must people always remark on my habits?"

Sephiroth actually smiled at this. It was the first time Genesis recalled seeing him smile, or seeing him smile at him anyway. It was a shame the expression resembled that of a shark: all malice and no kindness whatever.

"Forgive me, my dear marquess. Would you afford me the honour of a game?" Sephiroth said, his insincerity tangible. Commanding forgiveness was not the same as an apology, and Genesis acknowledged the difference.

"If you wish."

Angeal gave the duke a meaningful look as he gave up his seat to his friend. Angeal walked to the other side of the room, and gestured at the shelves there.

"May I?" he enquired.

"Of course. There are plenty more books in the library if you don't find any here which suit your fancy. I can have a footman show you the way," Sephiroth said, organising the black chess pieces on his side of the board while Genesis arranged the white.

"I'm sure these will do me just fine," Angeal said, selecting a translated copy of Homer's _Iliad_. He had always felt an inexplicable kinship with those fallen Trojan warriors. Sephiroth grunted in response.

"Now," the duke said, turning his attention to Genesis, "I normally always play whites by preference. However, seeing as how you are my guest I shall allow you the honour."

"That is most gracious of your grace," Genesis said sweetly. Privately, Angeal rolled his eyes. The two would get on like a house on fire; though it was likely Genesis would be the more badly burnt.

As he was playing white, Genesis was first to move. As was his usual strategy, he moved the king's pawn forward two spaces, and smiled up at the duke. His smile was met with a smirk, and Sephiroth's hand fell on the black queen-side knight.

* * *

><p>The game was not going at all to Genesis' liking. He was used to being on the offensive, and while his bold moves usually startled and threw off his opponents, the strategy had not worked on Sephiroth in the least. It was Genesis' king who, with weakened defences, was forced into a corner, Genesis having castled his king in order to avoid a near check. The marquess frowned, confused as to how he had come to be a victim of the duke's conquest, and went to move his rook, more out of a necessity to take his turn than for any strategic reason.<p>

"Now, now, don't give up," Sephiroth said with a smile that was infuriatingly condescending. Genesis flashed him a glare, which only made his opponent chuckle darkly. Like a mother surveying her children, Angeal looked up over the top of his book, wary of an impending argument. But Genesis, to his credit, managed to remain calm.

"A Rhapsodos does not give up. Fortune favours the bold, as they say."

"True, though normally it is said by those who are about to lose."

Genesis felt his eyebrow twitch in a physiological response to his irritation. Sephiroth was wearing that smirk again. Genesis swiftly moved his rook. He would play as he liked regardless of the duke's taunts. Immediately, Sephiroth moved his queen almost the entire length of the board.

"Check."

Genesis impatiently moved his king out of harm's way, sighing as though Sephiroth's attempts to win were a botheration rather than the object of the game.

"I suppose in the end everything we do is an act of war," Genesis said offhandedly.

Angeal, who had stopped paying attention to the epic but was now watching the exchange between his friends, cut in: "Surely not, do you really think so?"

"No, I agree," Sephiroth said, his jade-coloured eyes locked intensely on Genesis' cerulean, "and in the end all war comes down to is sex."

Genesis, who had been taking a sip of wine, nearly choked at this.

"I'm sorry?" he said, "Whatever does war have to do with sex?"

"Well, take the _Iliad _for example," Sephiroth said, nodding towards the copy that lay discarded beside Angeal on the green velvet sofa, "The entire war is started by two men's desires for the same woman, and is practically instigated by the goddess of sexual love."

"Really, Sephiroth, I-" Angeal began to say, but Sephiroth waved him off.

"But I'm not talking literally here, I mean metaphorically. Like a maid protecting chastity, the city of Troy staves off her attackers for ten years, resisting capture almost solely by the strength of her walls: for no one can argue that she had more than two warriors of any notable merit. Yet, though she has fought to maintain her integrity for so long, the city is at last breached, and all who strived in vain to uphold her honour are slaughtered by the Greeks, who – by guile and by force – are her conquerors."

After a brief pause, Genesis found it within himself to make a reply.

"And that is why you like _Pamela_, is it?"

Sephiroth gave him a leisurely smile, this one far warmer than the others. The duke lifted his hand and moved his rook with deliberate slowness, knocking over Genesis' king.

"No, Lord Genesis. _That_ is why I like _Pamela_."

* * *

><p>Angeal was very glad when at last he could retire to his room. Genesis' defeat had put him in ill humour, and he and the duke had been sniping at one another throughout dinner, and their bickering had continued after they went through to the drawing room. It seemed the two had nothing in common but their mutual opposition to one another, possibly excepting their taste in reading material, though their understandings were strikingly different.<p>

"All I'm saying is that your interpretation of the novel seems to be the reverse of what the author intended," Angeal could remember Genesis saying in a barbed voice.

"How so?" Sephiroth had replied, a hint of danger about his words. Angeal knew from experience that the Duke of Marlborough was not used to being challenged.

"Well from the inflection in your words earlier I gathered that you believed the outcome of _Pamela _to be a triumph for Mr. B."

"Of course: despite Pamela's initial resistance to him she eventually submits and consents to be his wife, and thus the author depicts a struggle between virtue and passion in which passion is the victor."

"But you are overlooking the fact that the alternative name for the novel is _Virtue Rewarded_, not _Vice Triumphant_. The story of Pamela is intended to be moralistic; it is not Mr B's depravity that succeeds, but Pamela's virtue. For upholding her integrity the lowly housemaid is rewarded by a proposal of marriage from a man far above her station."

"I'm sure a naïve reading of the novel would prompt such an understanding. It is my opinion that the alternative name of _Virtue Rewarded_ is intended to be ironic, and so satirises the credulous attitudes towards marriage that are held by the general population."

"But being a bachelor surely your grace cannot know the true nature of marriage?" Genesis had then said, entirely ignorant of his being lured into a trap.

"It is true that I know nothing of what it is like to be under the written contract, though I cannot admit to being ignorant of the practices."

With this and a look of infuriating superiority the duke had excused himself, and once Sephiroth was out of sight Genesis – who seemed a little stunned – did likewise. Before heading upstairs himself, Lord Hewley called over a footman for some more cognac, and asked that he summon his valet Sebastian to help him retire. Once up in his room, Angeal was grateful for the nightcap. There would be many long weeks ahead to endure the marquess and duke's hostilities, though at least once Zack and Cloud arrived he would not have to bear them alone.

* * *

><p>Cloud Strife stood in the library of the house in Grosvenor Street, listening resignedly to Lord Fair – Zackary Sr. – bellowing at his son in a room upstairs. The argument had begun over breakfast, when Lord Fair had enquired as to how dinner at the Gainsboroughs' had gone, and then claimed to have detected a distinct lack of enthusiasm in Zack's response. Zack had then admitted that enthusiasm was not a feeling he usually experienced while contemplating his coming marriage, after which the room had gone deadly silent for a few tense seconds before the shouting had begun. Cloud had wisely chosen to stay out of it, and had discreetly called for some wine before attempting to get as drunk as possible in the hope that it would make the morning easier to tolerate. He had caught various words and phrases which streamed from his lordship's mouth such as "an utter disgrace", "complete lack of concern for the family honour" and even "ungrateful little tart" which had rather amused him. As much as Cloud loved his friend, he couldn't help but relish in the times that it was Zack having his eardrums split open and not he. Of course, being the future baron the expectations put on Zack were far higher than those put on Cloud. Cloud was one of those peculiar people skirting the border between the middle- and upper-classes; he had been taken in by a baron, schooled at Eton and Cambridge, and mixed with the very highest society: yet the fact was he had no family, no land or money, and as such could not easily marry well though he could not be expected to marry <em>poorly<em>.

By now, Cloud was beginning to tire of the shouting match upstairs. He wanted very much to depart for Oxfordshire, but unfortunately it was to this very subject that the argument had now turned. Cloud looked up at the ceiling, deciding to tune in to what was being said.

"I will not hear of it! I sanctioned _your_ going to Blenheim, yes, but there was absolutely no mention of Cloud going too!"

Cloud closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face, and muttered, "Oh god, _please_ no." The thought of being left alone with Lord Fair for weeks on end was inconceivable, what with Lady Fair being in Venice and… all.

"But, father, he will be perfectly safe. I will be with him–" Cloud heard Lord Fair snort at this, "–and Lord Hewley be there too. You liked Lord Hewley, don't you remember?"

"I _approved _of him, certainly. However a penniless, pretty young man such as Cloud cannot be safe among these older gentlemen, and that's without considering his own poor judgement. If Cloud runs off with – I don't know – some chambermaid or something then I will be the one having to pay reparations."

Cloud frowned at this. Run off with a chambermaid, why on earth would he do that? Run on with an heiress, perhaps, but certainly not a servant! He bristled at being called _pretty_; he hated that Lord Fair always treated him more like a delicate little lady than a young gentleman. Zack was taking a while to respond. Cloud figured he was probably baffled by his father's allusion to the dangers of "older gentlemen". Though unbeknownst to his friend, Cloud was hardly safe from these dangers at home.

"Father," Zack tried again carefully, "these are sensible, amiable people. The duke himself is–"

"Proud."

"Well, yes, but he has pride befitting of his station."

"Ah ha, I see! So you and my Cloud are to go and grovel to his grace, a being elevated so far above us mere mortals. His station may be higher than mine, but do not forget that you are of an old and noble family, as good as that of Marlborough!"

"Yes, I know, father," Zack said placatingly.

Cloud, who had been rolling his eyes at his lordship's words, began to fret. It seemed to him that his friend was on the verge of losing the debate, and so Lord Fair's next words came very much as a surprise to him.

"You know what? Fine; I relent. _But_," Cloud suspected that the "but" was in response to Zack's inevitable smile, "if anything happens to Cloud, regardless of circumstances, I am holding you responsible."

"By god, you mean it? Oh, yes, father you can be assured I will not allow any harm to come to our dear Cloud!"

_Our dear Cloud? _Cloud himself frowned a little. He would have to make sure his friend was not taking up his father's tiresome, habitual condescension to him.

"See that you don't."

Now Lord Fair would be giving Zack a meaningful look before turning away and walking to his desk. Zack, after a giddy, somewhat nervous, smile would back out of the room and – that was the sound of him on the stairs: running, as Cloud had been about to anticipate. Cloud turned to the door in time to see his friend burst through it.

"Good news, Cloudy!" Zack said, beaming.

"Is it?" Cloud asked with feigned curiosity.

"Father has allowed our going – well, _your_ going: he didn't seem to give a damn about if I went – and so we must be off with all speed before he can change his mind."

Without waiting for a reply from Cloud, Zack marched out of the room with an expression of eagerness and determination. Cloud sighed and followed his friend, though he was really glad to be going. Once in the hall, Cloud was alarmed to see his friend lifting a trunk that was by the door and waiting to be loaded into the carriage.

"Really, Zack! Let the servants take care of these things. A gentleman and future baron ought not to carry his own luggage but leave it to the footmen."

"You're quite right, of course," Zack said, though he had begun to walk out the door with the trunk regardless, "But it is less inconvenient for me to help load than to wait any longer than necessary to depart."

"…Right," Cloud said, dubiously. He glanced at another, smaller trunk that stood next to him and briefly debated whether to follow his friend's example. The debate was short, however, as he strode out of the door leaving the case behind him. He watched as a footman hurried forth to take the trunk from Zack, who utterly refused his help and practically elbowed him out of the way in order to place it on the back of the carriage himself. Cloud stood by the carriage door and looked pointedly at the rather flustered-looking footman, before giving up and opening the door himself. Once Cloud was seated, the footman in question (at this moment Cloud rather wished he had the power to fire him) came rushing over.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, do forgive my negligence, Cloud!"

"Mr Strife," Cloud coldly corrected him. For some reason people – even servants – tended to call him by his first name. He supposed it was something to do with his slight stature and irritatingly adorable face. He might _look_ cute, but Cloud didn't think this gave people leave his assume he actually _was_.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," he said quickly. The man was even bowing.

"Where is Biggs? Call him, and bring him here. We are leaving directly."

"Just so, sir. Right away."

The man hurried off. Cloud threw himself back moodily against the cushions. He knew he had been harsh, but there was something about that man – Palmer, was it? – that really riled him. Perhaps it was his general incompetence and pathetic, apologetic nature.

Zack soon clambered into the carriage and onto the cushioned seat beside him. Cloud did not berate him for opening the door himself, feeling that in this instance it would be hypocritical.

"It looks like we're ready to go, and just as well too," Zack announced, his good-natured smile still plastered over his face.

"We should wait for our valet to arrive first."

"_My_ valet, Cloudy."

"Well, since my valet was deported, I think we can share," Cloud answered sharply, though Zack knew he wasn't really mad at _him_. Lord Fair had arranged for Cloud's manservant to be deported to South Africa a few weeks previously, and Cloud was still – understandably – touchy about it. The man had clearly done nothing wrong, and Zack was bewildered as to why his father would arrange such a thing. Cloud, on the other hand, was not so clueless. He knew Lord Fair to have been acting out of jealousy, for who is closer to oneself than one's own manservant? Still, there seemed no point in replacing the man (not that his lordship would let him) as any replacement might end up with a similar or worse fate.

Impatiently, Cloud glance out of the window. He was surprised and gratified to see a figure looming beside the carriage, and then the door was flung open. A tall, well-built man with spectacles tinted an ominous black stood there.

"Um… Biggs?" Cloud asked, and then mentally berated himself for being so stupid.

"No: Rude. I'm your new valet," the man replied stoically. As his glasses were so dark, Cloud was unsure whether the man was staring at him, and he found the sensation rather unnerving. His new valet? Cloud was suddenly struck by a horrible vision of the two of them standing alone in a room, and he being frozen with fear while this man towered over him as he undressed him.

"Ah. Yes, quite so," Cloud said in a weak voice. The man, Rude, got into the carriage and sat on the bench opposite them. Cloud unconsciously shrank back into the cushions behind him.

"Well, good morning to you, Mr… Rude. Pray, is that your first or second name?" Zack asked cheerfully, completely unfazed by the man's strong presence and cold aura.

"Neither."

"…I see," Zack answered, his smile wavering as he, too, began to become uncomfortable. "Um, when exactly did my father hire you?"

"I have been employed by his lordship on numerous occasions. In this instance I was called for this morning," Rude reluctantly answered, as though it took an immense effort for him to speak.

"And on what business did he employ you on these numerous occasions?" Cloud enquired a little suspiciously. Rude turned his head to face him and presumably look at him.

"That is none of your concern."

Cloud held Rude's gaze for a moment (which he managed by staring at the man's spectacles) and then edged infinitesimally closer to Zack. Thankfully, the awkward and, on one side, fearful atmosphere was broken by the arrival of Biggs.

"Good morning, young masters. Please forgive my lateness; I was delayed by his lordship, who wanted me to give this to Cloud," Biggs explained whilst clambering into the carriage. He settled himself by Rude, not at all fazed by the man's steely presence, nor the deathly glares he was getting from Cloud for calling him by his first name. Whilst Cloud was busy muttering "It's Mr Strife," Biggs put his hand into his waistcoat and produced a small piece of paper, neatly folded, which Cloud ill-naturedly accepted. As Cloud opened the letter, Zack leant towards him to read it over his shoulder, but withdrew at the look Cloud gave him.

"_Cloud,_

"_By now I am sure you have met with your new valet, and doubtlessly find him less than satisfactory. I would remind you that the servants fall under my jurisdiction, and so any manservant I allow you to have you should be grateful for. By this you should also note that any aforementioned servant acts primarily according to my wishes, and only secondarily upon yours. Rude has long been an acquaintance and sometime employee of mine, and so you can be assured his unswerving loyalty lies with me, no matter what ingratiating tricks you play on him. Moreover on that subject, if I should here of any misconduct on your part (and believe me I will hear of it) you can be certain of receiving appropriate and speedy retribution._

"_I would now warn you to be on your guard against any inappropriate advances from any of these gentlemen you are to stay with, for men of wealth and high station often believe they have a right to anything that takes their fancy – though you already know this. Furthermore, as you might have already supposed, these warnings are made superfluous seeing as how I have supplied you with a more than adequate protector, and we both know I do not mean Zackary. I would have you know that your protection is my primary object in employing Rude, though knowing you as I do I am certain that you with your suspicious mind do not see it that way. Being so familiar with your character, I have also anticipated your inevitable surprise at my allowing you to travel at all. I am not a cruel man; I can appreciate that young people often long for a little independence which I am now allowing you, with reasonable limitations. You need have no concerns that you might be away too long, for of course you know I would never allow that._

"_Wishing you a happy respite, Lord Fair."_

Cloud quickly folded the note and stowed it in his jacket, his eyes flicking a little nervously to Rude. He couldn't help but feel a little sick, but endeavoured, as he always did, not to let it show. Zack had very little idea of his father's true nature, and it was a continual source of amazement to Cloud that the son of such a deceptive, underhand, _evil_ man could have a son that was so unlike him, so innocent and kind.

Cloud went over the letter again in his mind as Zack gave a shout to the driver and the carriage began to pull away. So it was as he had feared: Lord Fair had not given him a new valet, but a warden. Even away from the baron himself, Cloud would remain, however indirectly, under his surveillance. He thought with some complex emotion that he could not entirely comprehend of the last paragraph, of Lord Fair's allusions to independence with "reasonable limitations" – a cruel, qualifying phrase that he had doubtlessly added to torment Cloud. Then there was his lordship's spiteful use of the word "respite", a malicious reminder of Cloud's captivity, a vindictive promise of this being the last glimpse of the freedom that he would never have.

Cloud turned around to see a final view of the retreating townhouse in the back window of the carriage. As he turned back he gave Zack a smile that had the slightest edge to it, though his friend missed this and returned a smile that was utterly free of all the world's cares. Cloud leant back against the cushions, an odd contentment stirring within him. So, Lord Fair would deny him his freedom, would he? That was the worse for him: for he would have it anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, this is my first fanfic in a long time. Putting FF7 characters into a 18****th****/19****th**** C. setting might seem a bit random, but it seems it can be done. Sorry about all the posh language: apparently I can't help writing in the style of the era I've set things! Also, the main pairing **_**is**_** meant to be SephxGen, but there are a few main characters and I always seem to get a little caught up with Cloud (who, as you'll see later, has a more intricate backstory than anyone). I haven't actually played chess in years, so I had to wiki some stuff and was rather impressed with myself. **

**Just if you're interested: all the landed titles (e.g. Duke of Marlborough) are genuine, as are the stately homes (e.g. Chatsworth House). So, good idea? Bad? Did you understand any of it? Reviews are welcome but don't feel pressured. Arrivederci, miei amanti!**


	2. Dawn and Dusk

**Chapter Two: Dawn and Dusk**

"_**Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 't is early morn:**_

_**Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle-horn.**_

_**'T is the place, and all around it, as of old, the curlews call,**_

_**Dreary gleams about the moorland flying over Locksley Hall"**_

**ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON, **_**LOCKSLEY HALL**_

Dawn was breaking. The heavenly Aurora was quietly stirring from her soft bed to rise and herald the morn, and the holy Sun was mounting his chariot to begin that slow celestial journey across the sky. Sephiroth stood on one of the many balconies that adorned Blenheim Palace, dressed only in his shirtsleeves despite the cold that night had brought. He must have looked the picture of romance, with the early morning breeze tousling his hair, and the Sun's first rays falling on his face whilst he gripped the balustrade and thought back to earlier days: of walking along the quay at Gibraltar with his brothers ambling behind him; of his mother smiling as the light that reflected off the water played in her hair; of reclining on a white couch and sipping champagne while Kadaj played piano in the next room. But Sephiroth was given over neither to nostalgia, nor to sentimentality, and so he soon turned away from these memories, and went back into his room in time to hear a tentative knock on his door.

"Come in."

"I trust your grace has slept well?" Essai asked nervously. The duke could be rather ill-tempered when he first woke up.

"Adequately. Get on and run me a bath," Sephiroth curtly returned.

"Right away, your grace," Essai said, walking into the bathroom rather lopsidedly due to the large bucket of steaming water he was carrying. The duke went to his full-length mirror, running his hand through his long, windswept silver hair and looking at himself appraisingly.

"Tell me, Essai," Sephiroth called through to the next room without taking his eyes off himself, "What was your impression of Lord Genesis?"

Sephiroth knew he had made his servant pause, as the thunderous sound of the water hitting the bathtub briefly stopped. He wondered if Essai was being cautious in his reply, or simply contemplative.

"I couldn't possibly comment, your grace."

"Now, don't give me that," Sephiroth said, smirking to himself, "Tell me what you really think."

"I didn't have much time to observe Lord Genesis-" Sephiroth gave a disappointed tsk and Essai quickly carried on, "-but from what I saw I believed him to be a little proud, a little impatient too, maybe, but cultured and refined."

Sephiroth barked a laugh and walked through to the bathroom, nonchalantly pulling off his shirt and discarding it carelessly on the floor. He swiftly climbed into the bath and was soon submerged luxuriously in the hot water.

"I'm sure Lord Genesis would not object to being called cultured _or_ refined, the two things he perhaps strives hardest to appear. As to his being proud, that he is and it impairs his judgement: he reacts with blind anger to any perceived slight, however small, and sabotages himself by being sure of his victory before he has won, as he did in our chess match last night. The impatience you noticed was yet another symptom of his pride: he thinks himself entitled to everything and so becomes angry when not immediately gratified. Still, he's certainly easy to look at." As he spoke, Sephiroth was soaping his chest, making a painfully sensual sight for his poor valet. "Why do you not speak, Essai? Did you not find him attractive?"

Essai inwardly grimaced. He was used to Sephiroth's games, and there were times when he rather enjoyed them, though as this one was at his own expense now was not one of those times.

"Indeed, your grace, very attractive," he reluctantly answered. Sephiroth smiled widely, showing his teeth like a shark. Like a shark, Sephiroth seemed to have an inane ability to sense his prey from miles away, and once on the scent he wouldn't give up until he had caught his victim.

"Why don't you describe him to me, Essai?" Sephiroth asked, closing his eyes and leaning back with a slight smile on his face to bask in the water.

"Uh, um…" Essai cast around for a bit, and then decided he might as well just go for it, "He has lovely red hair."

"Hmm… Describe it. Do mine as well while you do."

Essai walked around to the dressing table and picked up a wide-toothed comb. He came to the back of the tub, and crouched down a little in order to run the comb through his grace's long silvery tresses. As he did, he spoke softly into Sephiroth's ear.

"He has hair as red as the setting sun, when the clouds have gathered round it and the light of the rosy dusk fills the sky," Sephiroth hummed gently, tilting his head back in a response to Essai's leisurely combing, "The strands are as soft as the finest silk, woven by hand high in the cloud-topped mountains at the eastern corner of the world. His eyes, the deepest cerulean, are like the Mediterranean Sea at the height of the day when it is at its bluest and clearest, and the breeze causes the waters to swirl to reveal a fleeting glimpse of the hidden depths below."

"Hmm… You could be a poet, Essai," Sephiroth murmured peacefully, "Go on: his lips."

"His lips bear the slightest pout, like a rosebud on the point of bloom; open just enough to tempt, yet still closed enough to conceal the promises that lie behind those soft, peony lips."

Essai was now practically draped over his master, who previously had been too relaxed to notice, though now as he did he looked with amusement into his servant's eyes.

"You really are a slut, Essai," Sephiroth said, leaning in so that their faces were closer still, "Now tell me about his cock."

Essai drew back a little in surprise, but being long used to the lewd manner in which his grace often spoke in private, he quickly managed to compose himself.

"If you would like, your grace, I suppose I could imagine-"

"Don't be revolting, Essai! Now get out of here," the servant was already scurrying out of the room when Sephiroth called after him, "and fetch my clothes while you do!"

Sephiroth lay back in the tub with a satisfied smirk. Genesis was pretty, and an interesting diversion, but he would always have his valet to torment.

* * *

><p>In a room along the southern wall of the palace, Genesis was sleeping serenely, his lips curved gently upward as he lingered at the entrance to the gate of dreams. This quiet repose was shattered by the sound of something bumping heavily against the door, and as the marquis woke he heard water sloshing on the floor outside.<p>

"Merde!"

"Good god, man! Whatever are you doing out there?" Genesis shouted, angered at having his sleep broken by his idiot servant.

"Err, un moment, mon seigneur!" Luxiere called in a rather panicked, rather pained voice. Genesis rolled his eyes and got out of bed. Upon opening the door, he was met with the sight of his servant who stood utterly soaked, a comically strained expression upon his face.

"Is only a small problem, I zink."

Genesis could not help but laugh at the man's gross understatement, much to Luxiere's obvious distress.

"In that case I am sure you need no assistance. I'm going back to bed; wake me when my bath is ready."

"Très bien, mon seigneur, très bien" Luxiere muttered before traipsing off, bucket in hand, dripping as he went. Genesis sighed and went back to his bed, sitting down upon it though not climbing under the covers. From this position he could see himself reflected in the mirror over the mantel. He gave a dignified toss of his hair, which he began fastidiously to neaten. As he did, he thought over the previous night. He found he did not like Sephiroth much: the man was wilfully ignorant, a bigot, and had made him look a fool. Genesis would not be made to look a fool – a second time, that is. Genesis knew he was proud, but considered Sephiroth's pride to be much greater and considerably less deserved than his own, even if he _was_ a duke. He could only hope for the speedy arrival of Zackary Fair and the Strife boy that afternoon; with a larger party at Blenheim he could more easily avoid the duke, if he wished it.

* * *

><p>A sodden Luxiere made his way down the grand, carpeted hallway, seeking the cleverly disguised wall panel that concealed the servants' staircase. He was critically appraising the paintings of the previous Dukes and Duchesses of Marlborough (of which, he disdainfully noted, there had only been three), and as he glanced away he noticed another figure – also wielding a bucket – coming towards him.<p>

"'Morning," the man said curtly. Luxiere knew at once this man was a servant too, though he lacked the style and dignity Luxiere believed himself to possess, albeit recently mortified.

"Bonjour, monsieur! I regret to say ze morning is not going so well for me, as monsieur can probably see," Luxiere did a showman-like gesture towards his soaked form, but his companion looked unimpressed.

"I say, you're not French, are you?" the man asked, his eyes narrowing in something like suspicion. Luxiere inhaled sharply and drew himself up proudly, hand on hip.

"Oui, zat I am."

"But you're not one of those revolutionaries, are you?"

Luxiere graced the man with a look of profound condescension.

"Non, monsieur: I am a valet. You might be unaware of ze fact, but ze révolution ended over ten years ago."

"Ah," the servant said with a nervous laugh, "I see. Well we are in the same profession then. My name is Essai, and I am valet to his grace. Pray what is your name, Mr…?"

"Luxiere," Luxiere answered coolly, looking at the hand Essai offered before coldly accepting it and quickly letting go. Essai smiled weakly and gestured toward the hidden door, through which Luxiere went with Essai following.

"Forgive me," Essai said, as they descended to the servants' quarters, "but you can't blame a man for being cautious. The papers still warn us of spies, even if we no longer have to deal with Mr Burke's ravings about us all being trodden downby the 'swinish multitude'. People still fear there may be a similar revolution in Britain."

"I do not know zis Mr Burke, only zat 'e is an imbecile."

"Quite so," said Essai, sensing that the other was not quite placated, "Just as well he's dead then." They carried on in an awkward silence, until they reached the currently deserted servant's hall, from which they went through to the kitchen, where the cook and the two kitchen maids were busy preparing breakfast for upstairs. Essai dropped his empty bucket by the door to the scullery, and with a quick nod to Luxiere, departed. Luxiere went through to the scullery, where he asked the maid there for more hot water. Going back through to the kitchen – his bucket heavy and steaming once more – he observed the bustlings going on down there.

Tuesti was nowhere in sight, and Cissnei was presumably overseeing the maids as they prepared the rooms for the day. Tuesti's cat, Cait Sith, was winding herself between the legs of the scrubbed wooden table, and watched Luxiere rather intently, presumably hoping for some attention. He had been informed yesterday that the cat was in fact Cait Sith the Second, though Reeve did not like to talk about the passing of the first. Luxiere petted the cat for a moment, before being ushered out of the room by the large and rather fearsome cook.

"Go on, off with you! Get the marquess' bath done before he throttles you!" she cried, waving a floury rolling pin at him.

"Not without a kiss from you, chérie!" Luxiere said, pouting his lips.

"Enough of your nonsense! Get out, or I'll throttle you myself!" she shrieked, advancing towards him with the rolling pin and a threatening gleam in her eye. With a laugh that held as much fear as mirth, Luxiere hurried off, being sure to be very careful with the water this time around.

* * *

><p>Having at last bathed, dressed, and dismissed his valet to change into some fresh clothes, Genesis descended the stairs and swept into the dining room, where he found Sephiroth and Angeal already at breakfast.<p>

"I take it you did not hear the bell, Lord Genesis? When it rings in the morning, you see, we go down for breakfast," Sephiroth said impassively, barely glancing at Genesis as he buttered a slice of toast. Angeal smiled anxiously at his friend as if begging him not to lose his temper. But Genesis did not, and first took a seat in the chair offered to him by a footman before he made his reply.

"My apologies: my man saw fit to take a bath in the hallway before preparing my own this morning. Mind you, he made such a hilariously sorry sight that I didn't much mind," Genesis said calmly, quickly flashing Sephiroth his sweetest smile that hardly looked forced at all, and waving over a servant to pour him some tea.

"Ah, well, nothing like that ever happens here. I for one take care to employ staff that are able to do their job properly, without embarrassing me by making fools of themselves," Sephiroth said equally blithely, and Genesis couldn't tell whether his grace spoke out of cruelty or in jest. Angeal frowned; this was the exact opposite to how he'd hoped the day would start off. Perhaps his musings that after a good night's sleep his two friends would get on better together had been too optimistic.

"I'll have you know my valet was trained in Paris and came to me very highly recommended. What's more he amuses me, and I do not find him the least bit embarrassing," Genesis said, his smile now more of a grimace. Angeal closed his eyes, wishing he could go back to bed.

"I suppose that's perfectly fine if you prefer amusement over efficiency, a preference which I've often found to be a mark of a weak character."

Genesis decided he would not be able to answer without shouting something rather impolite – and certainly ungentlemanly – into the duke's face, and so he merely smiled and made a strange noise that was a cross between a laugh and a choking sound. Content in his victory, Sephiroth bit into his toast, while Genesis took a sip of his tea and avoided eye contact with Angeal, who was trying to give him a look that congratulated him for being so grown-up. Genesis' eyes flicked to the ornately carved ivory clock on the mantelpiece. While the arrival of Fair would mean less attention to himself from Angeal, he was anxious for the pair's arrival nonetheless. Both were easy on the eyes, though Zack was a little too cheerful and obliging for Genesis' taste, and while he enjoyed the company of the rather debonair blonde, his form was a touch too feminine for his liking.

Absently, Genesis twirled a sugar spoon and wondered how the duke would like his guests. The five of them had not been much together during the season: Genesis had been introduced to Sephiroth by Angeal at one of his father's balls at Devonshire House, though at that time he'd barely met Zackary and had scarcely heard a whisper of Cloud Strife. Genesis' brow furrowed as he fought to remember the introduction. The Duke of M— had been civil, certainly, charming even, so why was he now so hostile? Was it purely because of their disagreement – or multiple disagreements – last night? Genesis knew that he did not like to have his own opinions challenged, and if the duke felt the same then his hostility was prompted by bitterness. Then again, perhaps Sephiroth had assumed Genesis would be ready to continue the previous night's quarrels, and so had adopted the offensive as the best defence. Genesis blinked and shook his head. It was too early for him to think on these things without his thoughts getting tangled.

Sephiroth put some cold ham onto his next slice of toast, watching Genesis as he did. The man seemed deep in thought, and Sephiroth could not help but wonder with some satisfaction whether he himself was the object of the other's musings. Just then, the clock chimed the half-hour, and Sephiroth couldn't help but wonder what he did with himself all those long months he was home; he couldn't help but wonder what he was doing with his life at all. He had no profession; he was a gentleman of leisure now. His father, the third duke, had dabbled in cotton, but the trade was new, and his clients' interest and his own had gradually waned to nothing. Sephiroth himself did not _dabble_, and had more than enough income from his estate to be uninterested in any sort of enterprise. All that tutorage, all those years of learning – at Eton, in Oxford – had all been for nothing then, but to school him for conversation.

It had been of little use during his time in the navy. He had started off his naval career when he during the French revolutionary wars. He quickly moved up the ranks, partly by his own merit, though he suspected his station had played a part in his advancement. During the Napoleonic Wars he had been promoted to admiral, yet after the victory at Trafalgar he had returned to Gibraltar, having received from Yazoo the news of his mother's death. His brothers had been disconsolate for months, and Sephiroth still remembered with a pang of guilt the weeks the three of them had spent alone in that lofty Mediterranean house while waiting for him to return. He had missed the funeral, which had pained him far more than he had let his brothers know. He was greatly torn to leave his mother – Lucrecia, the Dowager Duchess – to lie so far from her homeland, but as he could not bear to live any longer in that house he soon returned alone to England. Since that time, he had scarcely seen his brothers at all. They remained in the house in Gibraltar with their tutor and servants to look after them. All three were… delicate, and despite loving them as he did Sephiroth found he lacked the will to care for them, not without the same fond patience that his mother had shown them. Sephiroth had now the strangest sensation of being pulled back through the years to the present, and like a sleeping child roused from his dreams he became slowly aware that Angeal was speaking to him.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, shaking off his daze as he did. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Genesis raise an eyebrow.

"I said it looks sure to rain, don't you think?" Angeal said, his lips twitching a little as though he were suppressing a laugh. Sephiroth glanced out the window and noted the ominous, heavy-looking clouds overhead.

"Yes. Yes I dare say it does."

* * *

><p>"Are you honestly expecting me to walk out in that?" Cloud looked disbelievingly at his friend. Despite being sopping wet, Zack was smiling earnestly at him from beneath the waterlogged brim of his hat, and was now attempting to persuade Cloud to leave the safety of the dry carriage so that he might end up in a similar state.<p>

"Really, Cloud, it isn't very far to the inn, and it will take at least an hour for the men to fix the coach," Zack said in a voice that was irritatingly rational.

"If it is not so very far, then why are you so wet?" Cloud asked, not yet willing to give up his hopes of staying where it was relatively warm.

"Because I've been standing out here trying to reason with you! Now come on out, we're going!"

With that, Zack began to pull his friend from the carriage, to the blonde's thorough dissatisfaction.

"No, Zacky, you mustn't! My new coat! Oh, very well!" Cloud cried, only assenting once he was actually outside and standing in the rain. He looked heavenward at the offending sky and muttered, "What a glorious day this is turning out to be…"

"The inn is down this way. We'd better make haste if you don't want to be soaked through," Zack said. Cloud glanced at the men who were working on reattaching the wheel. Biggs stood watching, hugging himself for warmth, while Rude seemed to be directing the operation. Cloud nodded and followed his friend, hoping to escape his jailor for a while before he noticed he was gone.

"Have you any idea where we are?" Cloud asked as they walked, his voice not revealing any particular enthusiasm.

"A small town of some sort. I've made enquiries with the innkeeper, who assures me we are not at all far from Oxford, and so we cannot be too far from Blenheim either. This county is very green, is it not?" he said, gesturing at the trees, "It must be lovely when the weather's fine."

"Charming, I'm sure," was the sardonic reply. Cloud had no idea how his friend could keep up such light conversation while they were practically being drowned just walking along the roadside; his own spirits were pretty dampened by it.

"Well I'm glad to see you're not put out," Zack said with a sly grin, for he was perfectly aware that his cheer was beginning to grate on his friend.

"Oh, indeed," replied Cloud, "One might consider it a marvel seeing as how we've been travelling for hours, being thrown about in a rickety old carriage, on rough country roads, accompanied by a terminally incompetent moron, and a man with all the emotional response of a sedated murderer at a children's birthday party. But no, despite all of this, I feel myself to have retained that classically sunny disposition, for which I am renowned."

At length they reached the inn, and upon entering it Cloud felt compelled to remark, "By God… What a bleak part of the world we've entered." For which he received a rather hard nudge in the ribs from Zack. They were seated by a typically beefy and good-natured landlord, though his hospitality was insufficient to move Cloud from his opinion of the place.

As is always the case with inns along cross-country roads, there was a fair mix of travellers, as well as a number of locals. Zack could discern there were a couple of other gentlemen too among the farmhands and some rather dodgy characters. Zack also noted that many of the pub's occupants were staring at them, though this was unsurprising; two attractive young men travelling alone was bound to arouse interest. However, Zack could not help but notice that they seemed to have become a subject for discussion among the regulars, and that more than one querying look was being directed at Cloud. Zack glanced at his friend, but saw that Cloud was discerning nothing of the room, and was instead busying himself by moodily picking at the scrubbed wood of the table, and trying to pretend he was elsewhere.

The innkeeper soon returned with the ale Zack had ordered (for seeing as how they were in a country inn, he thought he might as well get into the spirit of the thing), and plonked it down on the table in a manner that made Cloud visibly wince.

"Is there anything more I can do for you, sir?" the innkeeper asked, directing his question at Zack, "Or your… uh… wife, perhaps?" he added, smiling toothily at Cloud.

"I beg your pardon?" Cloud said, utterly stricken.

"Freely granted, sweetheart," the man said, and walked off with a wink to the distressed blonde. To further Cloud's aggravation, Zack was beside himself as he shook with silent laughter.

"He thought I was a woman!" Cloud said incredulously.

"What's more, he thought you were my wife!" Zack said with gleeful delight.

"I do _not_, in any way, resemble a woman," Cloud said, pouting and crossing his arms, which only caused his friend to laugh harder, "_What?_"

"Oh nothing, _sweetheart_," Zack said, recovering yet still with a broad grin.

"I can't believe he mistook me for a woman."

"If it makes you feel any better, Cloudy, I think they all do," Zack said, nodding towards the group of men by the bar. When Cloud looked over, a couple raised their beer mugs and another made a kiss.

"Oh perfect," Cloud said, turning back and looking a little traumatised, "I'm sure a rape would really brighten this day up." He now noticed the drinking glasses on the table before them. "Oh really, Zackary! Who drinks at this time in the afternoon?"

Zack raised an eyebrow at his companion whilst taking a long draught of ale, before saying, "Coming from you, that's rather rich. Now don't be a little girl, dear, and drink up."

* * *

><p>Lady Scarlet and her particular friend Tifa Lockhart were in the morning room when the post arrived. The servant bringing it was followed into the room by Lazard Deusericus, who, like Miss Lockhart, was staying in the great house by invitation of Earl Heidegger, who had since been called into town. Deusericus' desire for news had pulled him from the library, for despite the pleasing wealth – company – of his friends, he found day-to-day life in the country rather dull.<p>

"Your post, my lady. And you, madam, and sir."

The footman handed them the letters with ridiculous ceremony, and departed with three unnecessarily low bows.

"Oh!" Lady Scarlet exclaimed after a moment's reading, "Mrs — says that Marlborough has returned to Blenheim, _and_ he has brought four gentlemen with him! Two are there already, and are remarkably handsome, from the account that the duke's housekeeper gave to Mrs —'s. Oh, I do hope we hear from the duke soon! Or perhaps we ought to pay our respects first, and be sure of meeting the new gentlemen. Surely they must call soon, for we are the only people within a mile that are fit to receive a duke."

"Indeed, my lady, I am sure we may depend upon it," Lazard agreed, though he had never met the duke, and had no idea what company he kept, "Pray, what sort of person is the Duke of Marlborough?"

"Well," began the lady, taking a deep breath to begin her speech, while her eyes flicked shrewdly to the letter Tifa had speedily read and now stowed in a pocket, "I knew him for some years in my childhood, but before he or I were of age his whole family moved to Gibraltar for the sake of his mother's health. This was shortly after the death of his father: Sephiroth inherited the dukedom at a very young age. It was many years later that I ever met him again, for he joined the navy for a time and gained much distinction. He served under Nelson during the wars with the French, even! But his career was cut short when his mother died, and he was obliged to return to Gibraltar for a time. Since, he has only lived in England these past two years, and so it is unsurprising that you have not heard much of him. As to his character, I know not what to tell you. People say he is proud, and I agree, but I see no fault in it. At least he is not vain: he cares very little what others think, though his own opinion of himself might be thought uncommonly high. Apart from that, the duke is well-mannered (when he cares to be, that is), highly intelligent, cultured, but inclined to be rather standoffish. Of course, after meeting him you may form your own opinion, and then we can compare."

"I look forward to it, madam."

Lady Scarlet gave a practiced smile and slight incline of her head, and turned to her friend. The one item of correspondence Miss Lockhart had received she had now hidden, and Scarlet was burning with curiosity to know what it was. Seeing that art was likely to fail her, Scarlet settled for demanding to know of the letter's contents.

"My dear Tifa, won't you share the contents of that note of yours? You read it so quickly, and were so preoccupied that you must have been utterly perplexed by our conversation! Whatever it was, it must have been very interesting."

Miss Lockhart coloured a little, fidgeted, and replied, "Not to you, madam, I am sure."

"Nonsense! Come now, Tifa, we are all friends here; share it with us."

Lady Scarlet watched her poor friend's face intently, keeping a falsely sweet smile fixed on her own. Deusericus sighed discreetly. He had very little interest in whatever Miss Lockhart's secret correspondence was, but acknowledging that there was no better entertainment to be found, remained.

"Well, I suppose if you insist…" Tifa said, giving in.

"I do, to be sure," Lady Scarlet said, leaning in eagerly as Tifa retrieved and unfolded the letter.

"It is from a childhood friend of mine, Mr Cloud Strife. In our more… prosperous days my family used to dine with Mr Strife's adoptive family – the Baron Fair's – in Grosvenor Street. He heard in town of my coming here, and expresses a desire for us to meet, provided our respective hosts will allow it. It appears he is one of the gentlemen you spoke of, for he is to stay at Blenheim, and is due to arrive here soon – today, I should think, for the letter is dated the 6th."

Lady Scarlet clapped her hands and said, "Oh, this is simply sublime! Now the gentlemen shall _have_ to call, given that we know two in our collective acquaintance! Tell me, who is this Mr Strife?"

"I hardly know now, but in our childhood he was always very genteel, if a little cynical. I am cautious of calling him amiable, for though he possesses good manners and is perfectly capable of being cordial, his temper is very much subject to his whims. As a child he had a vast understanding, which I expect can have only improved from maturity, though I have heard he has a reputation for recklessness."

"Recklessness?" Scarlet interjected, "Why, what young man is not a little prone to rashness? I'm sure Mr Deusericus knows my meaning!" Scarlet laughed girlishly, and Lazard forced a feeble chuckle, "It is settled then," Scarlet continued, "one way or another, we shall meet these Blenheim gentlemen!"

Lazard bowed and left the room. Tifa returned to her embroidery, and attempted to ignore Lady Scarlet's attempts to continue the earlier conversation. Returning to the library, Lazard reflected on the news. He knew not whether to be relieved or irritated by the revelation that the duke and a party of young men would be returning to the palace. On the one hand, it would provide him with a greater mix of society than he had previously had in the Oxfordshire countryside, but on the other, it would create competition for the hand of Lady Scarlet, on which Lazard had been depending. As a younger son – an illegitimate son, even – he would not inherit a penny of the Shinra fortune, much less the title of Marquis of Huntly. The only way he could secure his future was by marrying well, and his friendship with Earl Heidegger had been his means of acquiring Scarlet, the Earl's niece and heiress, as a wife. Lazard walked about the room, holding a book though not reading it, as he dwelt on the situation. Scarlet's curiosity concerning the young men was hardly encouraging, though Lazard had the impression it was the duke he ought to be wary of; the Duke of Marlborough would make for a far more advantageous match than the bastard son of Huntly. Lazard resolved to watch the lady and gentleman when they met, and assess the danger from there. After all, he wouldn't give up the lady before he had been beaten.

* * *

><p>The sun had almost finished setting when the carriage pulled into Blenheim Palace. Sephiroth heard the hooves of the horses in the drive and sensed Genesis did too, for he looked up from his book. Shortly, there was the sound of the bell being rung, followed by the patter of footsteps on marble as Tuesti went to answer the door. Upon hearing the bell, Angeal looked up with such a look of relief on his face that Sephiroth felt he ought to have been offended. Genesis glanced at the clock, and remarked, "They're not particularly bothered about being punctual, are they?"<p>

Sephiroth thought back to the events of the morning, but decided to spare Angeal by making no reply. Much as he enjoyed making Genesis squirm, he felt that his friend's nerves couldn't take much more of their sniping. His latest guests were soon shown into the drawing room. The first, Zackary Fair, he had met two or three times in town, but Sephiroth could not remember having any particular partiality to his company; he recalled now – as the young man entered with a grin spread across his features – that he smiled too readily for his liking, though he made tolerable society. After him, came his friend, Cloud Strife. Strife had been only pointed out to him once in a ballroom, and Sephiroth had rather admired his beauty, though he'd been amused by his girlishness. Now the boy looked a little like a sulking girl, for he obviously resented the distance he'd had to travel that day. Before the door was closed, Sephiroth saw Strife look rather nervously behind him, and then caught sight of a tall man with darkly-tinted glasses walking past and ascending the stairs. He frowned, but assumed the man must be a servant, although Strife's behaviour towards him was strange. Before he could be lost in thought, however, Sephiroth stood and offered his hand to each of his guests in turn.

"Good evening, Mr Fair, Mr Strife. Do be assured of your being welcome at Blenheim, however late the hour," Sephiroth could not help there being a little bit of iciness in his voice, and vaguely hoped that neither the arrivals, nor Angeal, had heard it.

After being greeted by the other two, Fair related the story of how a wheel of the carriage had come off, and mortified his friend by providing details of how difficult Strife had been in the situation. However, as it was late, it was not long after this (when they had all had some drinks and idle chat) that the five men parted for their separate rooms. Sephiroth rather imagined that Strife looked strangely unhappy about this, which only piqued his curiosity further. Sephiroth gladly went to bed, shooing Essai away so that he might have some solitude, contemplating the coming weeks, and hoping that the party might provide some entertainment. As he fell asleep, he felt sure that Lord Genesis would, at the least.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This took far longer than I'd thought – I've been away for weeks (in Florida and Athens) and it seems that riots have followed me back to London. Hopefully the next few chapters will be up faster, but knowing me I wouldn't make any promises. Thank you very much to all who have read and reviewed, I hope chapter two is as well received (and that it makes sense, given that much was written while I was jetlagged).**


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